


One Small Concession

by devilcode



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Gen, SW's POV is very derogatory, Shadow Weaver Is Her Own Warning, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Shadow Weaver's A+ Parenting has got to be my favorite tag, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilcode/pseuds/devilcode
Summary: Shadow Weaver took her eyes off Adora for only a minute, and next thing she knew, that girl's trying to bring home the wildlife.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	One Small Concession

**Author's Note:**

> I churned this out in an hour and have barely proof-read it, so there's that.

Where had that girl gone off to again? Honestly, she hadn’t the time to spare for this.

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver called, her tempered voice burying her thinning patience. A mere child shouldn’t be so difficult to keep in sight. Her hand waved in a lazy gesture, shadows curling and flickering to life around her wrist. The spy blinked a crimson eye at her before slinking off.

Shadow Weaver hovered about steadily, not an ounce of haste in her bearing as she kept along the single corridor. There wasn’t anywhere else that girl could have ducked into. And to think, Shadow Weaver had been relieved when the toddler first learned to walk, believing that it would spare her having to tote the child around everywhere.

How naive that thought had been. An idle thought of continuing to carry Adora, never letting her over-eager feet touch the ground again, flitted through her mind. Or, perhaps, tethering her to something. Like some kind of harness. Shadow Weaver couldn’t imagine ever getting through her files in a timely manner again, if this… errant behavior were to persist.

Only another year, maybe two at the most, before she could begin to leave her with the other orphans for a time. Once those other children could comprehend that being a nuisance had consequences, understand that letting Adora come to harm was… unfortunate, she could trust them to behave. Only then might Shadow Weaver again know enough peace to return her full attention to her work. Lord Hordak was beginning to notice her deadlines were slipping.

The corridor leading away from the mess hall opened into the streets of the Fright Zone, its air all sulfur and acrid metal. A perfectly silent whisper directed Shadow Weaver’s attention downward to her shadow-born scout. It skittered away, and she trailed after the conjuration.

Shadow Weaver heard the child before she reached the dumpster.

“Here!” A bright giggle followed, a sound far too bubbly for the smog and sickly light of the Fright Zone. Some kind of breathy hiss answered it. “You’re hungry, right? Eat! This is good.”

Shadow Weaver rounded the corner to find her Adora crouched behind the towering line of garbage, both palms cradling crumbly handfuls of a ration bar. The creature she crouched before pressed back against the dumpster, as if the futile movement would put more space between them. Shadow Weaver could hardly see the creature beneath that ridiculous mass of matted silver-grey hair—truly, there must have been as much fur as there was urchin. Wide eyes narrowed as Shadow Weaver stepped up behind Adora, hissing once more around—

_By the moons,_ was that a _dead mouse_ in its mouth?

How repulsive.

Adora, unfazed by the urchin’s filth and oblivious to Shadow Weaver’s presence, inched forward with her offering.

“It’s okay!” She placed a crumb of the ration on her tongue, eating it with a theatrically exaggerated gesture. “See?”

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver cooed, placing a firm hand on the child’s shoulder. She startled with a yelp, dropping the crumbled ration as she tilted backward to stare up with wide eyes. The sorceress’ hand moved softly to her ward’s cheek; her displeasure must have been apparent enough from the lashing of her hair. “You mustn’t run off like that. It could be very dangerous.”

Her gaze rose to the bristling urchin, the young thing’s eyes once again wide as it stared at Shadow Weaver’s wildly dancing hair. Yes, she thought, her body language made it quite clear how dangerous things could be, should that prior hissing be a threat to her Adora.

“Come now, child. Let us return.”

“But—” Her hand gently wrapped around Adora’s, and Shadow Weaver pointedly ignored that disgusting residue that those grey rations left on everything they touched. Her grip tightened insistently when Adora paused to look back behind the dumpsters, the tug finally setting her feet in motion. “Kitty’s hungry.”

“Do not concern yourself with such things, Adora. Think what could have happened, had I not come looking. The Fright Zone isn’t safe for one so little.”

Her tone brooked no argument on the matter as she tugged little Adora back inside the citadel. That was resolved, at least.

Or so Shadow Weaver had thought.

Only two days later, the sorceress found herself standing before that forsaken dumpster again, watching Adora delightedly running her hand across that urchin’s ridiculously sized, filthy mane, as the prickly creature gnawed eagerly on half a ration bar.

Shadow Weaver rather despised repeating herself. She’d had her fill of that during her time as a teacher.

“Adora,” she snapped. Her ward startled to clumsy feet, standing straight; the urchin dropped the ration and skittered backwards on hands and feet, tail and mane bristling alike. Adora’s alarmed attentiveness didn’t last long, melting into a smile and pointing back at the other creature.

“She likes it!”

“That is _quite_ enough.” This time, Shadow Weaver didn’t hesitate to scoop up her ward, despite a protesting whine. The four-year-old wiggled in her arms, reaching out with eager hands as if they could bridge the several feet between her and the grubby, feral gremlin crouched behind the garbage. Adora whimpered, blue eyes locked on that swishing tail. “Do _not_ find your way out here again, Adora.”

“But—kitty,” the child said helpfully, oblivious to the wild way Shadow Weaver’s hair snapped and whipped. Those blue eyes turned up to her pleadingly. “She’s got no bed. We have more,” she begged, going so far as to boldly tug on the shoulder of Shadow Weaver’s robe. “And—and, I can share my food.”

It took every ounce of Shadow Weaver’s control to keep her breath from hissing between her teeth. Adora was right, a part of her mind acknowledged, beneath the indignation of being disobeyed. The future cadet barracks for her ward’s age group had yet to be completely filled. Something tugged on the thought, and her mind traced that idle thread, following it into a growing web of ideas.

How long had this gremlin been surviving out here? It couldn’t be any older than Adora, judging by size. Has it been a week? A month? A year? Surely it couldn’t have been longer than that. Either way, to survive out here at such a tender age, amid the desert or the rusted jungle of the Fright Zone, the feline must have had some sort of keen instinct or innate capability. Perhaps that could be honed.

Even if that meant more work for the time-being. She would need to observe the urchin for a time—evaluate whether or not it was dangerous. And, perhaps, this would help keep Adora occupied. Shadow Weaver came to a stop, thoughts churning around the idea. 

Besides, she would likely have no peace on the matter if she acted otherwise. Shadow Weaver was beginning to recognize her ward’s stubborn streak, and she would really, truly hate having to come down harshly to quash this disobedience. A small concession might be wise.

“Fine,” Shadow Weaver muttered curtly after a moment. This time, she did sigh, that quiet breath filling her words with exasperation. “If you must, you can have a pet.”

What other word was there for this… pitiful creature that trapaised around on all-fours?

The sorceress turned, her masked gaze falling upon the half-feral urchin still cowering behind the garbage. It watched her warily in turn, even as Adora lit up with a delighted gasp, reaching back towards the ‘kitty.’

Yes, there was keenness to those eyes, now that Shadow Weaver thought to look for it. Cautious. Perceptive. Shrewd. They watched each other tensely for a silent moment as Adora squirmed in her grasp. For all the fear in that little one’s posture as Shadow Weaver’s shadow danced unnaturally about, it did little to diminish the determination etched into her face. Yes, there was strength in that drive for self-preservation. That could be useful, indeed, if properly fostered.

“Well?” Shadow Weaver called, allowing her annoyance to creep into her voice. “Come along. I do not have all day.”

The urchin blinked, those oversized ears snapping upward in surprise. Shadow Weaver didn’t wait; she turned about, floating back into the citadel. Adora’s giggling was indication enough that her newest ward was following. After a few moments, the urchin scampered up beside her, the now-filthy half-eaten ration clutched in hand, eyes flickering uneasily up at the sorceress.

Shadow Weaver met that stare, even as Adora squeezed her neck with all the might her young arms could muster with a stream of _thank you thank you thank you_ ’s.

“Do not make me regret this,” she spoke mildly. Even without bite to the words, the urchin’s ears flinched downward—but her mismatched stare never wavered, despite the anxiety in her hunched shoulders. Hm. Curious.

“I suppose we’ll have to get you cleaned up now.” And that would be quite an adventure, wouldn’t it? Adora’s new find was caked with grime. “And a word of warning, child. Never let me see you eating one of those filthy vermin again.”

What trouble this was already shaping up to be, with how Adora wiggled around to lean over her arm, babbling down at her new friend. Oh well. No good investment came without price, and seeds did not flourish into strong saplings without meticulous care and pruning. The burden fell upon her guiding hand to see whether this venture would be worth it.

Shadow Weaver had guided more difficult students in her years at Mystacor, _surely._

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw Noelle’s tweet about Catra having a fever coat and I got a lot of feelings about that implication. Hence why “silver-grey” is used here to describe her hair. I sat down to write something else and ended up with a First Meeting fic instead.
> 
> If the grey rations are Adora and Catra's favorites, naturally, it has to be SW's least.


End file.
